


Pour a little salt, we were never here

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [96]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if is waking up from a dream, Satine and Obi-Wan’s lives return to normal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour a little salt, we were never here

The sight of Sundari renews Satine’s spirit. Her chest swells with pride: the city did not fall in her absence.

But there is evidence of war and destruction everywhere; her triumph is forfeit. This is not the homecoming she was hoping for, but the one she should have anticipated.

Satine swallows hard, a lump of frustration lodged in her throat.

_So much work gone to waste_ , she despairs.

A couple of members of the royal guard right the throne. Satine is drawn to the shattered window.

The broken glass reflects her face back at her; it has been ages since she last looked in a proper mirror. The jagged edges make her look haggard and drawn ( _it is not an illusion of the glass_ ). It is not a face of a monarch.

Not a face one could fall in love with.

Satine turns sharply away from the window.

Her sure, long strides carry her to the throne. She will not think of that, not when there is work to be done.

Taking her place on the throne, Satine feels as though her regal air is restored to her. She waves the Ruling Council forward. They gather at the foot of the throne to discuss the restoration of the rest of Mandalore.

Satine dutifully hears each of them out.

At night, she tosses and turns in bed. She laughs in the emptiness that there was a time she could not sleep on anything not made of feathers.

Sleep eludes her even after she finds a comfortable position. She stares wide-eyed into the darkness and finds she misses the close quarters of life on the run. She misses the safety in small spaces, the low hum of activity beyond her walls.

Try as she might to not think on the lack of company, Satine misses him most of all.

His breathing could lull her to sleep faster than any feather bed.

She misses the feel his mouth pressed against hers, the shine of his blue eyes when he watched her speak. She misses the way he hid his smiles behind his hand and the way he unconsciously reached out to touch her. She misses the fluttering of her heart when he was near, but not the ache of when they were apart.

How could she? It is a constant, never ceasing, and she did it to herself. Satine barely notices the spilling of tears on her pillow.

In the morning, her eyes are red and raw. Her advisors ask if she is unwell.

“Merely a poor night’s rest. I am unaccustomed to my own bed. I will sleep better when I remember how a bed is supposed to feel,” she lightly assures them.

They chuckle at her joke and set to the day’s work.

Each passing day makes every lingering night the easier.

She forgets the exact sound of his voice and the shivers the grazing of his fingertips sent down her spine.

The pace of his heart ( _matching her own rapid pulse_ ) no longer a distraction, Satine convinces ( _lies to_ ) herself she did not and does not love Obi-Wan Kenobi.

\----------

He travels from bed to bed, cot to cot, hard ground to hard ground too often to notice a change in his sleeping habits.

Obi-Wan shifts when a soft hand urges him to wake.

It shakes again, more aggressively, and his head snaps straight up, remembering where he is ( _not_ ) and who is ( _not_ ) with him.

“Thanks, Stass. I’ll be right there.”

She nods and leaves him be.

Obi-Wan splashes his face with cold water, trying to banish the dream from his thoughts.

He stays with Satine; it is always some variation of the scenario ( _not the nightmare from his last night on Mandalore_ ). She asks him to remain. He has the courage to cut loose and run into her arms. They both abandon everything to be with each other.

Though Mandalore slips further and further out of memory, she does not. Her image may fade like each night’s dream, but every word she said and gesture she made burns in his mind.

Vigorously, Obi-Wan shakes his head and splashes more water in his face.

He cannot tell himself to pull together because he does not know who he is anymore. He thought he knew before he met her: now he’s not so sure.

He summons his lightsaber from the floor beside his bed.

On nights they talked, he learned to be without it. It is almost unnatural for the blade always to be within reach again. There was a time the lightsaber would never leave his side, let alone his sight; “your lightsaber is your life” too permanently impressed upon him.

But even that teaching fell to the wayside for a smile. He’s come to think of his neglect for his lightsaber as neglect for the Jedi way of life, as opposed to his actual life. Because, for the first time, he did something for his life, not with his life.

It eats away at him that he could think and act so selfishly.

Obi-Wan moves through the days, occupying himself with trying to regain the devotion he lost.

He meditates, mind clear of her. He studies; there is history unrelated to Mandalore. He spars, undeterred by pacifist rhetoric.

He recovers.

Master Qui-Gon marks the change in Obi-Wan, “I have never seen you so focused.”

Obi-Wan shrugs, “I want to be prepared for the trials.”

He flinches at his own half-truth and strives to make it a whole truth.

\----------

Far, far away from Coruscant, Satine’s fingers linger on the clasp at her throat. Her blood may pump at a regular pace, but her heart is far from well.

If only she had choked on her words again, perhaps their parting would have been easier.

To know he would have stayed is too much.

And somehow not enough.

He never did say for certain that he loved her. How could she expect it, after what the Jedi have taught him? She knows he must have given her all he could.

He loves her, even if he could not say as much. She has to believe it.

Is it too much to ask to hear him say the same words? Is it not enough to have had the courage to speak at all?

What good is courage if its only company is misery?

Satine’s hand falls away from the brooch.

They cannot regret this meeting. For too long there was no possibility of a second chance. She made the best of the time they were given and spoke for both of them.

Satine will not tell herself they will not meet again. ( _It was a lie the last time._ )

She will believe for both of them his words were sufficient. ( _Words that signify action – action that proves love._ )

But they live in a harder reality than when they first parted. Their lives will continue as they are until they meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
